Soft Goodbyes
by Slinky-and-the-BloodyWands
Summary: The night comes for Draco to fulfill his duty to Voldemort, but Pansy only wants to get away, with her lover and child. PansyDraco. Post HBP. On HOLD.
1. Unheard Whispers

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Author's Note: SPOILER WARNINGS FOR HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF BLOOD PRINCE! The setting is a few hours before the Dark Mark is raised on the tower.**

_**Soft Goodbyes**_

_Tonight._

The note gave no name, time, place; but Pansy fully comprehended its meaning. Draco Malfoy stood across the common room, his face grim and set. His eyes darted over her as if she were a ghost he could see through. She nodded once to him, no flirtatious smile or shout of an embarrassing pet name. Tonight was the night she said goodbye to all of her dreams, and she would not wear a mask of ignorance any longer.

"Blaise, as interesting as your date with a Romanian sorceress was, I must retire for the evening," Pansy said.

The wizard gave her a strange look. The other Slytherins around her mimicked Blaise Zambini's look of confusion. Where was the whiny Pansy Parkinson known for absorbing gossip like a sea sponge?

"Are you feeling alright?" Millicent asked.

Pansy blinked, unable to believe she had allowed herself to be so obvious. "I'm fine, of course. I just feel a headache coming on. I don't suppose your big headedness is contagious, is it?" She aimed the blow at Blaise. The wizard only smiled at the playful stab.

She walked away, up the steps to the girl's dormitory. None of her roommates had come to bed yet. She walked to her dresser, pulling out the draws one at a time. Draco told her to only bring her school bag, so she would have to choose what stayed in the dormitory with her clothes and books. She pulled out a brush that her grandmother had given her and shoved it into the bag along with a small photograph album, a few trinkets, and lastly a ragged stuffed snake Draco had given her in their first year. She smiled at the memories swimming in her mind and shoved the small bag beneath her pillow. She went to bed fully dressed, her blanket up to her neck to cover her clothing. Pansy feigned sleep as her roommates drug themselves in, still chatting loudly about some unlucky Ravenclaw.

Pansy waited until the moon no longer shined through her window and snores sounded from the other beds. The room was pitched into darkness. Pansy crawled out from beneath her blankets, snatching her possessions. She crept downstairs to the common room. The area was cold and dank, but she ignored the chills running down her bared legs. Someone waited in the entranceway.

Draco was a shadow in a hooded robe, but Pansy could see him clearly. He gestured for her and disappeared into the corridor outside. Pansy followed, staying far behind him. She watched him turn a corner and open a door. Pansy slipped in behind him. They were quiet a moment longer as Draco cast a silencing charm on the broom closet.

"_Lumos,"_ Pansy hissed. The tiny room was cast with light.

Draco slowly pulled down his hood. "Did anyone see you?"

"No," Pansy answered. She waited a moment before stepping forward and embracing him in a warm hug. "When do we leave?"

"Soon," Draco said.

Pansy stared into his face. His eyes were red and distant. "You're doing it then?"

Draco didn't answer.

"I thought you'd given up. I thought we would just leave, Draco," Pansy panted. She could feel tears gathering in her eyes. "Draco, we have the money to start over. Let someone else. . ."

"The Dark Lord asked me, Pansy. He asked me," Draco whispered. "He will expect me to obey him. If I do not, we will never be free to live out our lives." Draco pushed her back and put a hand at her waist. He moved it sensually across her abdomen. "Our child will not be free from him either. Do you honestly think I want my son wearing this mark?"

Pansy raised her hand and slapped him soundly across the face. "Draco, tell me—you know from some experience—is it better to have a father who is gone all of the time? Is it better for your child to know that you are a killer?" Draco was silent, petrified by Pansy's questions. "And what if you die? What if you leave me here—alone? What if everyone spits on our child and tells him stories about what he once was? We should get away from here!"

"Shut up, Pansy," Draco begged. "I know all of the consequences."

Pansy buried her face in Draco's shoulder. "We're too young for this," she cried. "We're much too young."

Draco pulled his long fingers through her dark hair and put a thumb against her lip. "This must be done. I have to go now."

"No." Pansy grabbed to his robes. "Please, Draco. . ."

He peeled her hands off of him and bent down. Their lips met with a softness that was almost ritualistic for the both of them. Draco pulled away. "If I make it tonight, if I succeed, then I will come back for you, Pansy. I will come back. But if something goes wrong, you must leave as if I was nothing to you. You must request that you take a short trip; I know you can talk your father into allowing it. Go to a muggle city if you must. Don't let your parents know you're pregnant. If you need help, my mother knows how to keep a secret. Do you understand?"

Pansy covered her face, tears pouring down.

Draco shook her. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," Pansy cried. "Yes."

Draco kissed her softly and walked away. He shut the door behind him, leaving her standing in the broom closet. Pansy slid to the floor.

"Goodbye, Draco," she whispered.

She waited in silence until silence could not exist amongst the screams and curses sounding through the castle. She covered her eyes with both hands until the quiet came again. She waited on, but a piece of her knew that Draco would not return for her.


	2. Lie for Life

**Author's Note: I was convinced by reviews (and my own curiosity of the DP ship) to turn my one-shot into a chapter story. Thanks for the inspiration. This story will not be divided into chapters but short segments. It may be terribly long or horribly short. Thanks for your time—here's hoping for a review.**

The hell that lurked beneath the surface broke loose the night Pansy told Draco goodbye. Pansy wanted to see him again, to touch that icy skin and prove that he was alive. Most of all, she wanted to hold him. It was selfish to want him to return when he was in so much trouble here, but she couldn't help it—every moment without him brought her pain.

She had waited for him for so long that every gruesome thought imaginable had passed through her head. Memories mixed with nightmare when she refused to close her eyes. Pansy remembered the summer after their first year at Hogwarts. The Malfoys had visited the Parkinsons at their Spanish coastal estate for a weekend retreat. Pansy and Draco had walked side by side with sand between their toes for the first time and experienced the awkwardness of having nothing to talk about for the first time as well. Draco was so young, a short snarky brat.

Pansy smiled to herself, not much had changed other than his height.

At that age, Draco had not considered her as someone of the opposite sex but another ally that he could brag to. He was in the middle of spilling an outlandish lie about a baby dragon when he began to climb a tall stone barrier. The wall was huge, at least twice the size of a tall man, and Pansy refused to join him. She watched from the ground, a hand above her eyes to shield her already blistered cheeks from the sun. He continued to shout down to her as he scaled the barrier, one brick at a time. Pansy nodded, adding a few spiteful comments in agreement with Draco's views on the Golden Boy, Harry Potter.

A moment later Draco had fallen, his fingers clawing for nothing, mouth hanging open in surprise. Pansy didn't scream; she couldn't move. The only sound was a dull thump as he hit the ground. He broke a bone in his arm, and a few hours later, he was healed, right as rain. But Pansy could remember that faint moment of panic, and it scared her because she had felt it all night long, since she muttered goodbye to the man she cared for most. In her mind, she saw Draco falling, except he was older, and he didn't try to catch himself. And when she leaned over him, his eyes were open, unblinking.

Tears poured down her face, and she told herself that her hormones were causing her to think this way. Yes, she thought, it's just the baby that's worrying me. She continued the mantra for hours. She didn't move from the closet until the sun was high overhead. When she did, the school was quiet, but terribly chaotic. She resisted the urge to clutch her bag to her chest and lower her head. People moved in and out around her, parents taking their children away and casting evil, suspicious glares at the faculty and remaining students. There was a low, steady whisper in the air that hurt her ears. Everyone had something to say, but none said it loud enough for her to hear. She walked amongst them, as if nothing in the world mattered. She could feel her bottom lip shaking, and she bit it painfully to keep herself alert.

"Pansy?"

She turned. Millicent stood behind her, a look of shock on her pudgy face.

"You're still here?" she asked.

Pansy took a breath between her teeth. _Still here?_ _As in, why didn't I leave with Draco . . . . _"Don't ask foolish questions, Mill."

The other girl continued. "I didn't even have to owl my parents—they're on their way. I don't think you should stay either. The Slytherin common room is almost empty." Millicent leaned forward. "The Ministry will probably be questioning those that are still here. If they find out that you and Draco had a fling. . ."

Pansy's pale face flushed and her fingers curled into fists at her side. "A fling?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"Well, yes," Millicent mumbled. "You two were never 'that' serious, were you? It was just a physical attraction, just like it was when you were with Blaise, right?"

"If you don't know the answer to that, than it is obviously none of your business," Pansy hissed. "Now, you find your parents and _run away_. If the Ministry asks me any questions, I'll just tell them the truth. I was in the opposite side of the castle, screwing the brains out of a Ravenclaw prefect."

Millicent blushed, a small, embarrassed smile on her face. "Very well, but you should be owling your parents. I haven't seen them here."

Pansy smirked, raising her chin haughtily. "I think I will. I don't think I can take the smell of all these pouting mudbloods out in the corridors. Do me a favor and do not mail me this summer; I do believe my family will be monitored after this fiasco. Excuse me."

Pansy walked past her, barely registering the lies she had so smoothly given. She was indeed going to mail her parents immediately, to tell them that she was going to be staying at Millicent's home until the rush died down. Another lie. Pansy wondered if she would ever be able to tell the truth again. She glanced over her shoulder at a retreating Millicent. The girl had honestly been no help. Pansy had a least expected to learn who had died, but she could not risk asking the question outright. It was then that her ears caught a conversation going on between two paintings. A rather odd looking witch was blowing her nose in the first painting, tears streaming down her face.

She listened as the painting managed to blubber to her neighbor. "He…" The witch sniffed, wetly. "He was the . . . the v-very best H-headmaster. I remember when I was. . .a, a student, our. . . H-headmaster n-never. . . ."

Realization struck like a delayed toiling of the bell. Dumbledore. Dead. _Draco did it . . . Oh, Merlin, I can't believe it._ Pansy took a shallow breath, dizziness sweeping over her. Her vision doubled for a short moment and her toe caught a step. She stumbled, catching to the banister and putting her weight on it. Her lungs seemed to shake as she gasped, and she felt tears rise. _No! _she screamed at herself. _Don't let them see you so weak! _

"Are you alright?"

Someone's hand was on her arm, helping her up. She threw up her free hand to wipe at her eyes. Without daring a glance at the person who had helped her, she shrugged off the aid, pushing herself up the stairs. "I don't need any help," she grunted.

Her pace quickened until she'd arrived at the next floor. She rushed into the first room she came to, an empty classroom as was her luck. She pulled herself a seat and found an abandoned scrap of parchment. She wrote lies to her family to save herself, to keep them from coming. She only hoped it would stop them from arriving at the school. Thankfully they weren't the kind of 'rents who felt the need to check up on their child very often. She folded the letter gently. If she did this, if she lied to them, she would never be welcomed freely back into her home. But it had been Draco's will. It was the only choice she was left with if she wanted to keep his child. Pansy stood and walked out the classroom in the direction of the owlery.


	3. Questions

**Disclaimer: I don't own any Potter related material in this entire story. (Hopefully, that means I won't be posting another disclaimer on this story.)**

**Author's Note: Wow! I love all of the feedback! Thanks so much! If anyone is interested I have a C2 archive entitled Such a Pansy where I'm putting the Pansy ships I've read. If anyone has any stories they would like to add, just tell me at the end of your review. Also, I play fairly, so if you read me, I'll be sure to repay you by reading one of your stories (if you have any stories from a 'verse I'm familiar with, and it has ships I somewhat like, etc.). **

A few hours had passed since Pansy had mailed the letter to her parents, but she had yet to receive a reply. She wandered the school like a soulless husk fading into the background. Without realizing where she was, she found herself walking into a lavatory. It had been her habit over the past few months to visit this particular restroom on mornings when the thought of ham and eggs literally made her sick. She sat on the edge of one of the driest sinks until a ghost appeared before her.

"It wasn't Draco."

Pansy stared through Moaning Myrtle, surprise on her face. The statement had been so sudden. '_It wasn't Draco_.' He wasn't a murderer. "Are you certain," Pansy breathed.

Myrtle nodded, a grim look on her face. "I knew you wouldn't ask any of the others. You wouldn't want them to know that you were hiding last night, now would you? I thought you would want to know, though. Professor Snape did it, not Draco."

Pansy swallowed relief, but pain managed to seep in through her pores. Draco had lacked the hate; she had said that very sentence many times in her mind. Part of her had expected him to overcome his emotions and complete his task. After all, his family was on the line. Pansy slid off of the sink with a terrifying thought crossing her mind. What would the Dark Lord think of Draco's weakness? Was Draco on his knees now, begging for forgiveness, or had the Dark Lord been so pleased with the death of his enemy that he had ignored her lover completely?

"He cried, you know. A lot." Myrtle floated closer to the Slytherin, a frown on her face. "Did you know?"

"I suspected," Pansy whispered. "He didn't like to cry in front of me; people like us aren't supposed to cry. But I saw the fear in him." She wanted to close her mouth, to walk away, but the words expanded in her throat until she couldn't breathe. Her eyes shot up. "Damn him, the bloody coward! If he was going to play that part, he should have just left with me!"

Myrtle floated back a few paces. "Perhaps, I shouldn't have said anything. I don't get much practice, you know, socializing—not like you do."

"Me? Socializing, as you put it, is a job. I take no pleasure in wearing a mask to suit every party I attend." Pansy let a shallow breath escape her lips and attempted to smile. "Forget what I said. It's of no importance to me."

Myrtle put a fist beneath her chin, propping her elbow on thin air. "I don't take any offense. How could I—I'm just a ghost. Obviously, my feelings mean nothing to you, you breathers. . ."

Pansy rolled her eyes and shifted her weight uneasily. "I appreciate the information, Myrtle. If there's anything I can do. . ."

"Well," Myrtle grinned. "You could come back and visit. . . People never visit me because they want to. They always need something," she moaned. "Or they just stumble upon me. They never want to talk."

Pansy held her small bag close. "I can't do that, Myrtle."

Myrtle nodded as if she was expecting the answer. "So you're not coming back then? Pity. Oh, well. . . There is something else you could do for me."

"State it."

The ghost shrugged her shoulders. "I just want to know whether it's a boy or girl, that's all."

Pansy's blood ran cold. _Was it that obvious? _"Keep your mouth shut, spook!"

"You don't know yet?" Myrtle seemed unaffected by the Slytherin's anger. "It's actually a good thing you're leaving. A few more weeks and your stomach will start to pooch. And you've been so sick; I'm surprised no one has put it together yet."

"Don't you tell a soul!" Pansy shouted.

"I promise," Myrtle said without hesitation. She frowned. "Don't worry. You're secret's safe, unlike everyone else's. . . And no one knows yet—I would have heard."

"Thank you," Pansy snapped, the words foreign to her lips. She turned on her heel toward the door.

"Don't you want to know how I knew?" Myrtle asked.

Pansy didn't face the ghost, but her hand rose to her abdomen protectively.

"How I knew about Draco that is?" the ghost amended. "There was some bathroom chatter in the girl's lavatory. . . the one by the Hospital Wing. I heard two of Harry Potter's friends talking. Harry was on the tower last night, under an invisibility cloak. He heard, saw, everything. Too bad he didn't mention what Draco said before Snape did the deed. . ."

Pansy bit her lip. The statement filled her with even more questions. Did Snape beat Draco to the punch, or did Draco decide to not kill Dumbledore willingly? Did the Headmaster injure Draco—was that why he was unable to kill the old man? She looked over her shoulder. "Thank you again, Myrtle."

The lavatory door slammed shut as Pansy walked toward the steps. She hated Harry Potter, as every good Slytherin should, but she needed to see him before she left the school. She reached the ground floor and slowed, realizing that she had no idea were the boy-who-lived was at the moment. She clenched her fists in frustration, but one thought lessened her tension. The funeral. Dumbledore's funeral. It would have to take place soon enough, and when it did, Harry Potter would have to be there. He loved the old man like a grandfather, and he wouldn't skip giving his respects (or soaking up the limelight, Pansy thought bitterly) for anything in the world. Yes, that's where she would find him. Then she would have her answers.

**E/N: I hope this chapter wasn't too awkward will all of the dialogue and the lack of feeling. Don't worry, this story does have a plot . . .**


	4. White

**Author's Note: Yes, I know, it's been a month since I've updated, but I hope you guys haven't lost interest. Thank you for all of the reviews. I'm sorry if the story is moving a bit slowly but it should pick up soon. Indeed I do have a plot line, lol. (Oh, and the first two lines come from Rose Hawthorne Lathrop's poem "A Song Before Grief".)**

'_The bird is dead_

_That sang this morning though the summer rain!'_

Funerals meant nothing to Pansy Parkinson. One lived until they could no longer outrun the dark angel, and then they died. It was a simple fact. No tradition or ancestor worship could change that, and it sure as hell didn't make a difference if there was a body in a box to grieve over.

_Sure as Hell,_ Pansy thought, dragging behind the slow moving crowd. 'Sure as Hell' was not a phrase that applied to the empty husk in question, and somehow the words alone made her think twice about the irony of her situation.

She surveyed the students filtering past her into the number of visiting adults offering handshakes and awkward hugs. Moaning loud enough to put Myrtle in her place sounded before the group had even made it to their seats on the lawn. Pansy winced at the display of sorrow. She, herself, had felt such feelings over the past few days, but never had she let the public see them. Why should they cry, anyhow? Dumbledore was gone, but he was probably happier wherever he was, so why should they look so sad? _It's themselves they're crying for._ Pansy herself would openly admit that selfishness pulled her into almost every emotional declaration she had ever made in her short life, but she doubted that these mourners would do the same—no, they would say, 'silly girl, a great man has died'. They would most likely add that she should be ashamed for her coldness. She was.

The few stragglers pushed themselves by the young woman, taking their seats or greeting people or planning business luncheons. (_And they say I have a heart of stone.)_ Pansy looked through the crowd for her target and found him near the back with his do-gooder friends. She smirked at the thought of him being kicked out of his reserved front seat by ministry officials who looked as if this were another meeting instead of a marker for death. Pansy watched the remaining seats fill but made no move to claim one. Instead she took a step back finding a tree to prop against, preferably where no one would take notice of her.

She surveyed the black clad audience carefully, her eyes going back to the boy-who-lived. She expected to see a look of pain or sadness on his face, but that was not the case. Potter looked distant, as if he were somewhere else. If she was not mistaken, he was wearing a small smile that was slowly turning into a full fledged grin. He quickly covered his upturned lips with one hand, trying to hide the enthused expression. Pansy heard a faint laugh that came and went in one breath. It took her a moment for her to realize it was her own.

Pansy wondered what the joke was, as did the youngest Weasley. Ginny, better known as Weaselette in the dungeons, leaned over to say something to Harry Potter and touched his hand ever so gently. The young couple shared a moment without words, basking in emotions and that single touch. It brought a bitter taste to Pansy's mouth. She and Potter were the same age, but she felt much older when she witnessed that moment of happiness. How could they feel any joy at a funeral? The answer was as simple as death. They were together. But, from the look in Potter's eye, that was only a swiftly fading dream. The little Weasley knew it. Pansy knew it too. She had seen that very look in Draco's eyes every time he had pressed is warm lips against hers. She had seen it when his eyes said goodbye.

Anger nibbled at Pansy as she watched the proceedings of the funeral. When blue flames licked the sky and left Earth with a white stone sarcophagus, it progressed into jealously. She would not have a beautiful funeral like this, and neither would Draco. No crowd of respectable folk would show their respects. Not even a blubbering half-giant would tend their bodies. If they were to die, they would probably have to make do with a distasteful muggle gravedigger. And, most certainly, there would be no white at their funeral. There would not even be white at their wedding. They were not innocent. They were not even respected enough to pretend virginity. No, they had gone too far, done to much, seen terrible and wonderful things. White was impossibly pure, and Pansy would be happy to make due with gray.

As for Harry-Perfect-Potter and that tease Ginny Weasley? As sagely as they may seem in duels, they were children in the area of sexual encounters (any form of Gryffindor snogging certainly did not count). That didn't matter, though. It wasn't their 'experiences' that made them so perfectly innocent. There were other factors which Pansy didn't feel like dwelling on.

Before she realized it, the funeral was over. She pushed herself off the tree, wiping a few bits of bark off of her robes, and walked forward. She needed to speak to Potter, as much as despised the thought. Pansy hated to admit it, but she was nervous. What would she ask? _So, Potter, heard my good friend Draco said a few words before he fled—you know, when he was suppose to be committing a murder?_ So much for light bar talk. The Slytherin Princess swallowed, held her chin up, gathering strength and approached the boy wonder from behind. She opened her mouth to speak but before she could say a word, she was pushed aside by a stately looking wizard, the Minister.

Pansy snorted indignantly but neither Potter nor the Minister seemed to notice her. She turned on her heel, intent on being the first on the Hogwarts' Express. What did she need from Potter, anyhow? Did she really want to know if her lover had backed out of the murder of his own will? The answer was yes.

"But not today," she whispered.

**End Notes: Sorry if that was boring filler (I was very tired when I wrote it). Anyhow, you'll get to hear from the famous Harry Potter soon enough. And there will be more about Pansy's past relationships to come, so stay tuned. LoL. Oh, and don't forget to tell me what you think—I love hearing feedback, whether or not it has to do with your aunt's awful tea cakes or the source of that wretched smell in your grandmother's closet. **


	5. Train Wreck

**Author's Note: Sorry for the long break between updates. I'm trying to keep all of my stories moving…and that action alone is somehow slowing me down even further, lol. **

Train rides were perhaps the most boring form of torture still used by society. As the Hogwarts Express traveled further and further from the school, Pansy realized that this ride would be no exception to the rules. She had never been forced to endure it alone, though. Even during her first journey to Hogwarts, she had already found her self socializing with those who would soon become her house mates. Her eleven-year-old self had already known that she would be a Slytherin. She had to be, so said her parents and so said those who could become her allies at school. Pansy had been more outgoing then, turning up her nose and snapping at any underdressed mudblood to look in her direction. She'd even picked a few fights with those she thought beneath her.

Pansy looked out the train window, smirking at that thought. _I suppose I've sobered up over the years._ In all honestly, she still did not care how many people still hated her for her allegiance to Slytherin and all things the house stood for. Who cared that over half the female population of Hogwarts was stilled pissed at her for her flirty grins and loud mouth? It didn't matter, especially now that she was leaving. "Never to return," she muttered, neither happy nor chilled by the words.

She leaned back in her seat, hands folded across her lap. For a moment, she imagined that she was stroking Draco's fine blond locks, running her fingers through every hair in reverence. Her cheeks warmed at the thought of that moment of leisurely intimacy. If only they had been alone, if only he had been paying attention to her instead of thinking about the future. . . Such thoughts churned in her mind, slowly creating a cyclone of chaos that came with every memory of her child's father. She bit her lip to keep from screaming out her frustrations. _What if he was never thinking of me when I lay in his arms? Every moment we touched he was in another place, far away. _ _Was it because he never wanted to be here—with me?_

Draco had been more sensitive that any other person knew, but he kept it inside, hidden deep and locked away. When he'd made love to her the first time, _his_ first time, his body had been cold, so cold, and hers so afire that she had been afraid that he felt nothing for her. The second time though, almost a year later, she had looked into his eyes and saw past the layer of ice. Flames licked and burned in those eyes, and not all of them had been lust. She knew that at least one ember was kindled by love. After Christmas holiday, he had came back to school, his whole body blazing. Draco hadn't wanted them to loose themselves at school—he did not wish to be caught with his shorts down by some do-gooder like McGonagall, but he hadn't been able to contain his desire for long. He took her into a classroom that had not been used for years, and undressed her slowly, taking his time for once in his life. He was savoring it, afraid that he would never be about to enjoy her ever again. It was the essence of perfection.

Thinking back on the last time she had been with her lover put Pansy's mind to ease. He had to care for her. It wasn't just sex, or some teenage obsession. It was more, and it had produced a baby. And Pansy was determined that her baby would be able to live life knowing that it was loved by two people, its mother and father.

The smooth whistle of the train's brakes called for Pansy look out the window of her compartment. She stared down at the platform. I wasn't very crowded. She had never seen so few parents waiting to pick up their children, nor had so seen so few students exiting the train. She stood, grabbing her possessions and filing into the corridor to make her way out of the 'iron maiden on wheels'.

Pansy watched family hug their children, comforting their sons and daughters and lending a hand with their trunks. She rolled her eyes and walked past them, toward the muggle exit, glad that she had changed out of her robes earlier. Before the funeral, she had shrunk her trunk and put into her small bag, deciding it was better for the house elves not to find her possessions and try sending them to the Parkinson estate. After all, she might need to sell the books and such for a few knuts, if her funds were drained too quickly.

Muggles were pushing by her, and she raised her chin as if she were making her way through muck instead of people. She stepped outside of the train station into muggle London. "Now where?" she snapped. A stuffy looking man in a tweed suit stared at her for a moment until she glared in his direction and sent him on his way with a rude, universal hand gesture. Pansy stepped away from the busy street and leaned against a muggle shop, ignoring the still mannequin staring down at her from under a huge white hat. She huffed, frustration pulsing through her again.

She was supposed to find somewhere to stay for the night, but where was she going to find a hotel in this madness of a city? She was about to release a very unlady-like growl when she caught sight of Harry Potter walking out of the train station, trunk in tow. His two muggle-loving friends were at his sides, Weasel King and the mudblood brain.

"Are you sure you don't want us to come with you, mate?" Ron Weasley asked.

Potter turned with a small, reassuring grin on his face. "I'm just going to the Dursley's for a few weeks, Ron, like I promised Prof. Dumbledore. I'll see you at the wedding, then we'll discuss our traveling. I still don't think your mother will care much for me after I drag you away."

Pansy turned away, not wanting any one to notice that she was half way interested in what the 'Golden Trio' had to say to one another. The Gryffindor three went their separate ways (most likely with hugs and kisses), but Potter remained, standing by the curve of the street, trunk handle still in hand. The Slytherin walked up beside him, unable to stop herself.

"Waiting for your pet muggles, Potter?" Pansy sneered.

Harry Potter kept his eyes on the vehicles driving past. "As a matter of fact, I am, Parkinson. What, planning to whisk me away with your Death Eater friends? Or does the thought of all these watching muggles turn you off." he asked.

Pansy's face blushed. "You bastard," she snapped. "What do you know about anything? Nothing, that's what!" She wanted to storm away, but instead she crossed her arms childishly, waiting for a reply.

Potter was silent a moment, poking around for the right answer. "Sorry," he said, his voice low. "You're right. I know nothing about you."

Pansy wanted to ask him then. After all, he was being civil. Who could ask for a better chance to interrogate him? She frowned, his words not sitting well with her. "And I doubt you're very willing to learn," she hissed. Pansy turned on her heel, walking away from the Boy-Who-Lived, no destination in sight or mind. Not for the first time, she wanted to disappear.

**End Notes: I hope that chapter made a smidgen of sense. Don't worry—you'll get to hear from Draco very soon. R&R**


	6. Move

**A/N: Oh, I'm sorry about the slow updates. I'm been working on some of my other stories, trying to get them all caught up so that I can have some sort of working system for posting. Thank you, my loyal readers. **

It was funny how even the most common of things, like a cool pillow against a flushed cheek, could bring such comfort. Pansy rolled to the other side of the bed, glancing at the alarm clock on the side table where her wand lay. It was almost noon, and Pansy still didn't feel like pulling herself out from beneath the covers. She glared at it the red digital numbers with a furiousness that could have made Salazar Slytherin proud. Nevertheless, the foolish muggle electronic refused to push back the hours.

In an attempt to get up, she told herself that she was sleeping in a soiled, dirty bed that hundreds of muggles had occupied nightly. As a side note, she added, doing Merlin-knows-what between these two sheets. It did little good. The snarky Slytherin Princess on her left shoulder told her that the pillow she was snuggling up too had been drooled on, but the child on her right insisted that the lump felt like a slice of Heaven's fluffiest cloud.

With a groan, she slithered out of the covers cocooning her and stumbled out of bed, thankful that she didn't yet feel the dizzying morning sickness tracing its way up her throat.

She had been so exhausted from walking though London the day before that she had been desperate for a place to rest her head. Pansy had finally settled on what she hoped was a reasonably priced muggle hotel (she cursed herself for not reading the book on muggle currency in Hogwarts' library). She had been forced to use what Draco had called the emergency card—the shiny little rectangle of plastic that she had promised to use only as a last resort. She pulled it out of her bag along with another card, both of which had been given to her by Draco only a week earlier. For some odd reason, they both claimed to be owned by one Penelope Parkers.

"You always did have a great sense of humor," Pansy muttered, only half amused.

She had signed the name without hesitation, and the man downstairs had been more than happy to except "charge". She would definitely use these cards again.

Pansy put the cards away and glared down at the skirt and button-up that she was still wearing from the day before. She would obviously have to go shopping if she wanted to go out into the muggle public more than once. Her eyes found the open bathroom door, and she found herself yearning for the touch of hot water and suds on her skin.

Clothing dropped as she walked across the small room to the tiny white tiled floor in front of the double sinks. She snatched a towel from its rack and her own reflection caught her eye as she backed away. Hips up she was pale and smooth, and her womanly curves, which she had tailored her robes to fit so very well, stared back arrogantly. Pansy's eyes glimmered with release when she ran a hand over her slightly rounded stomach. It had always been flat before, the envy of her roommates, but she liked the new look just fine. She wondered if Draco had noticed it before he left, when he'd run his fingers over her.

"Give it three weeks, Parkinson, and you'll like you're carrying a rice sack around your belly," said the reflection (or so she imagined it would say, had it been a 'magical' mirror).

The scorching water did her good. It left her skin reddened and her hair soaked and her eyes open to the world. She ran her fingers through her short black locks before deciding not to dry them magically, straightening her hair as was her usual habit after a bath. No, she would let her natural curl take form. It would only be a slight change in her appearance but a change nevertheless.

She opened her trunk and slipped on one of her lighter, casual robes, lounging down onto the accursed bed that had held her hostage for half the day.

"Now what?"

Her eyes met her distorted features reflected in the black glass sitting in front of her. A television, she realized. Pansy leaned up curiously, unable to recall seeing one of the muggle entertainment boxes in her life. Her parents had always ensured that their precious daughter would not be _tainted_ by foolish devices such as the one she was presently examining.

"On," she commanded, staring at the box. Nothing happened. "I suppose that's not how you work. . ."

She spotted a few buttons along its bottom and hopped up, pressing the one labeled 'power'. The screen flashed on. She noticed a long, smaller rectangle beside the television, and began to fiddle with the remote's buttons. The pictures changed as she pressed the channel button down. She sat back down on the bed, watching a man grasp a woman in his arms and kissing her passionately on the lips. Then the man proceeded to tell her how his wife would never find out. She switched the channel.

Music blared through the room. She waited a moment, listening to the heavy, melodious beat before turning off the television and laying back down on the covers, arms draped over her form. She sighed, already bored with her new life.

"Come on, Draco," she whispered. Her eyes closed as if she was praying instead of wishing into thin air. "A sign, please. Tell me you're alive. Tell me that our lives can be put back together.

A rasping on the door brought Pansy back down to earth. "Room service," a hearty accent announced.

Pansy shot up as if she had just been hexed. She raced to the door, looking through the tiny safety hole. A round, cheerful face peered at the front of the door, a rolling hamper at her side. The young witch slowly opened the door.

"What?" she snapped.

"Hello, Miss," the woman said with a broad smile that made her glittering eyes almost disappear.

"I do not need your services," Pansy said haughtily.

"Would you like some towels, little miss?" the woman asked.

"No," Pansy forced. "I'm fine . . . but thank you."

The woman gave an annoying little laugh that made Pansy's innards twist. "Why, miss, you wouldn't know a Penelope Parkers, would you? A young man came by a few hours ago and dropped off a letter. He asked me to deliver it as I made my rounds."

Pansy's face dropped at the name. "I'm Penelope."

The maid held out a small brown envelope with the name scrolled across the top in curt, slanted handwriting. Draco's handwriting. Her lover had been here—_in this place. _But why didn't he find her himself. Why couldn't he sacrifice five minutes just to tell her that he was alive?

Pansy snatched the letter and slammed the door in the muggle woman's face. She let out a shaky breath and tore it open hastily.

_Dear Ms. Parkers,_

_I regret to inform you that your request for a portkey to Hawaii, USA could not be filled at this time. For more travel information and developments, please contact the Department of Foreign Travels and Affairs. Thank you for your time and loyal membership. _

_Sincerely,_

_Roberta LaChagrin_

Pansy laughed at the bubbly signature, reaching out for her wand. She tapped the paper lightly. "Information, Hawaii, USA, Department of Foreign Travels and Affairs, please," she said lightly. The words began to scrabble, letters fading and new ones appearing in their place.

_One day has stretched into a lifetime, or maybe I simply have no patience without you. I don't have long, my love. They are always watching me. I can only deliver one message, and you must take it to heart. I want you to wait for me. But I need to move on. Move, my flower. They have already spotted you twice. Get out. _


	7. In the Open

**A/N: Whoa, it's been awhile since I've updated this fic. My apologies.**

The mirror was definitely Pansy Parkinson's friend.

She modeled outside the shop's fitting room, running a hand over the vintage pleaded white skirt with a haughty smirk. The length and drop was perfect for elongating her body and hiding her pudgy stomach. Though she had no idea why, a bit of her old self always arose when she was shopping. _Old self_? Pansy thought, _when did the new 'me' arrive? Was it with this baby? With Draco's goodbye? What's different about me anyhow? I'm the same as I've always been._ Pansy didn't want to question the legitimacy of that thought nor its consequences. She was happy to look up at the reflection and see the shop's clerk approaching from behind.

"I'll take this as well," Pansy stated, gesturing down at her clothes.

The woman frowned, her pursed lips reminding the young witch of Professor McGonagall, and held up the 'credit card' as several stores had dubbed the piece of plastic. "I'm sorry, miss, but we can't take this card. Do you have another method of payment? If not. . .well, it's a quarter after closing already."

Pansy blinked, trying not to let the disappointment she was feeling cross her face. "On second thought, I already have something a bit like that. Perhaps I'll wait on the hat as well."

The witch slipped back into the tiny fitting room. When she heard the attendant's footsteps leading back to the front of the shop, she let out a frustrated sigh. "Those damn things run out?" she hissed. "They should come with a bloody warning. It would have been nice for Draco to mention that when he gave it too me. Of course, he did say to use it as a last resort."

Pansy had used the card sparingly after receiving Draco's message, but she had been forced to show it when she arrived at a new hotel. The young witch had managed to switch to five hotels and inns in the last two weeks, spending her muggle currency on food and new clothing—after all, she couldn't blend in last season's fashions, now could she? Perhaps her wallet had been a bit too loose, but she hadn't expected everything to be so expensive. Her mother had not been the type to teach her to 'thrift shop'—that sort of second hand nonsense was for people who didn't care about moving up in society. Or at least that was what Pansy use to believe. Now, she'd much rather be in a previously worn dress than have the gnawing hunger in her stomach grow.

Pansy walked out of the fitting room with her head held high. She stepped out into the street, the shop keeper locking the door behind her. Night had already befallen the quiet little muggle town in which she had spent the last two nights. Only a few folk still remained outside: a young couple retiring arm in arm, a man in a business suit striding out of the liquor store with a bottle of wine, a little old woman opening her apartment door with a bag of groceries on her hip.

"All muggles, all the time," Pansy scoffed, walking past.

The inn in which she was staying was nothing more than a musty, two-story house off of the main street. The old man who ran it was most likely already in his bed, snoring as loud as a freight train. Pansy turned the corner, coming to a full stop. The Harrison Inn stood before her, less than a block away, its fenced-in front lawn nothing more than a corner dividing two lanes. But what made her halt was the light coming from the first window of the top floor. It was her room, the one she had rented for the evening. She had most definitely turned off the silly 'electric bulb' before she had left.

She took a step back and hid herself behind a building corner. A shadow walked in front of the window, and then another crossed over to meet it. Two people were in her room, probably going through her meager amount of belongings. _That rules out the muggle owner then._ Upon closer inspection she noticed that the front door was open, ever so slightly, though no light issued from the first floor. Her pulse quickened. The figures in front of the window were no longer there.

Pansy turned on her heels and down the street toward the opposite end. There she waited, catching her breath and listening for the sound of approaching footsteps. Thankfully, she heard none. In fact, she was completely alone, only the street lamps and moths to greet her. The fact of the matter was there were no muggle witnesses. With a grimace she pulled up her skirt. Her wand was strapped onto one pale thigh. She pulled it out of its holster and raised it.

One second passed, then two. As fast as lightning, a huge double-decker bus slammed to a stop in front of her. A young woman with short hair and a crooked grin stepped off, tilting her cap in greet. "Hello! Welcome onto the. . ."

"Enough small talk," Pansy interrupted. She brushed by the woman and into the bus. "Just drive," she commanded in a dignified air.

The other woman flared her nostrils but kept the smile on her face. "Very well, then, miss. Where do you which to go?"

Pansy took a moment. She honestly didn't have a clue as to where to hide or how on earth she was going to get a hotel on good looks alone. Then a small smirk reached her lips as a thought occurred to her. _Thank you, Grandmother! _Her father's mother, a woman of a hundred and ten, had quite recently passed on, leaving a small fortune behind. Nanna, as she referred on being called, had always hated her husband immensely for his numerous affairs, so, when he had suggested that young women should not have money of their own, she had automatically changed her will to leave her only grandchild, Pansy, a huge sum in an account entirely in the young witch's name. _I'm willing to stake my wand that those bloody goblins would not have let my parents clean out the account, no matter the size of the bribe. _

"Diagon Alley," she said, taking a seat on an empty bed.

She held her purse, the bag in which she always carried with her, close to her chest. Though her robes and school gear were still far behind in the Inn, she still had those things which where most important to her and a few knuts to pay for the ride. She was not completely without, and she was confident that she would _never _be completely without, no matter what.

It was perhaps her abundance of cool confidence that kept her more cautious side from noticing the wizard at the back of the bus, watching her from beneath a heavy, hood with greedy eyes.


	8. Holding On

**A/N: Oh, maybe this chapter will be more entertaining than the last. Do keep in mind that it has been over two weeks since the goodbye and that Pansy is heading toward Diagon Alley to clean out her savings. Ok, on to the actual story now**

"Diagon Alley."

Pansy blinked at the announcement, making her way toward the door. She saw another passenger stand as well but thought nothing of it—after all, Diagon Alley was probably one of the most popular stops in all of London. The young witch put her bag over her shoulder and stepped off, walking toward the pub that would take her to the alley itself. She hesitated at the steps, hearing loud laughter from inside.

"Don't," called a voice. It was barely above a whisper, but she could tell that it belonged to a man. She turned around quickly, the hair on the back of her neck standing. The passenger who had stepped off the bus was leaning against the wall, hidden in cloak and shadow.

"Were you speaking to me?" Pansy asked, her chin automatically lifting as she spoke. Rule one to communicating with dangerous strangers in London: show no fear . . . unless they pull a wand or a knife.

"They'll recognize you inside," he replied. He turned away, walking away toward the muggle shops.

Pansy glared at him, watching his shadow. She raised a brow at his smooth, prideful stride. Her breath caught in her throat—a good thing, because she would have shouted out her first thought otherwise. Stepping off of the steps, she all but ran toward the figure. She grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

"YOU BASTARD!" she shouted, turning him around. "You think disguising your voice could have fooled me?" Pansy reached up, pushing back the man's hood to see gray eyes and a smirk she knew all too well. Her heart jumped into her throat.

"And they say I have no acting skills?" Draco replied coolly. He bent down, catching Pansy's lips with his own. She fell into him in a split second, tasting him greedily. The confusion, the aggravation, was gone for the shortest of moment. The witch tried to pull away but an odd sensation caught her—they were apparating.

Draco let go of her, and she stumbled back onto a bed. Her eyes darted around what appeared to be an inn room with a few mismatched pieces of furniture and an utter lack of decoration. She stared up at the young wizard before her, pushing herself toward anger.

"Is it safe to talk here?" Pansy asked, her voice quiet.

"Very," Draco replied, "but only until morning. I rented the room ahead under Ms. Penelope Parker's name, so they're not expecting to see the guests. I've already warded it—it's sound proof."

"Good. Because I've got some words for you, Mr. Malfoy," Pansy growled. "Do you know how dangerous apparation during pregnancy is for the child? If something happened to our baby because you didn't. . . What are you staring at me for?"

Draco took a step back, a curious expression in his eyes. He let the smirk and cool demeanor fade from his face, replacing it with a smile more genuine that she had ever seen before. The wizard fell to his knees, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist as if expecting her to run away. "Love, don't be upset. The baby would have been more hurt by the men who were looking for you than one apparation. And we didn't go far, just to Knockturn Alley."

Pansy put a hand in his blond hair, letting him press the side of his face into her swollen stomach. He seemed to be collapsing onto her, grasping at her for dear life. She had never seen him this way before. He had always been the most collected of the pair.

"I was scared," she whispered.

"You had a reason to be," Draco said. "I was afraid that you'd give up on me and go back to your home."

"Home is most definitely not where my parents live," Pansy replied. "I think I'm caring a little home inside of me. That's what it feels like. I just wish you had been here with me. It was hard to drop everything by oneself. And those damned muggles are so bloody strange—do you know that they rejected my plastic?"

The witch felt his tear drops soaking through her shirt, and she reached down, lifting his face. She was surprised that he let her see him cry instead of jerking away. Draco looked up at her as if he had just seen a goddess. "You're going to make a wonderful mother, Pansy."

Pansy's mouth opened and closed a few times before she caught her wits. "Dragon. . . What happened to you?" The harshness of her tone was gone. "Why haven't you visited? Did _he_ hurt you because you came back? Did he find out that Snape did. . ."

"I've been safe," Draco said, softly cutting her off. "And I've been trying to keep you safe." He lifted his hand, running it over her jaw. "I've kept you a secret. . . .From everyone."

"Then no one knows about _us_," Pansy said. _Other than Myrtle, that is. _

Draco shook his head. "No one. But they all seemed to have noticed that you are missing. Bloody hell, Pansy, do you know that your parents are offering a reward for you? Someone's going to earn a damned good living if you turn you in. That's why you must be more careful, love. You can't go waltzing through a pub without even a hood up—and on the Knight Bus. Thankfully, you look so out of place in your muggle clothing and curls that the bus driver didn't suspect that you were the pure-blood everyone's looking for. But you must be more careful."

"Easy enough to say," Pansy snapped. "But how can I do that, Draco? My school things and my other clothing were left in an inn. This is all I have. The average witch or wizard will give me a full look down."

"What about Nanna's savings?" Draco asked.

The witch smiled. They honestly did think alike. "I plan on cleaning it out. That's why I was on my way here."

Draco nodded. He pulled himself to his feet and took a seat on the bed beside of Pansy. "Very good. Gringotts is closed at the moment though—the Ministry is enforcing a bit of a curfew for the shops. In the morning, as soon as they open, get in, get your gold, and get back out. You need to leave Diagon Alley as soon as possible. I'll leave you some clothes to wear."

"Aren't you staying with me?" Pansy said, her voice showing a bit of her famous 'spoiled-rich-girl' whine.

"I can't do that." Draco sighed. "You know as well as I do that we're less obvious apart. And I have business to attend to—things I'd rather you not be privy to."

Pansy gave him a playful pout. "Are you having an affair, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco kissed her. "No, dear."

"Can you stay . . . just a little bit longer then?" she asked. "I would fall asleep better if you were beside me."

The wizard raised a brow. "Just a few hours, my flower. I won't be here when you wake up."

Pansy slipped off her shoes, scooting across the bed. Draco tossed aside his cloak and let his body fall back so that his face was inches from hers, letting his hand crawl along her side. "Promise me something."

"I think I've promised you quite enough."

Draco lowered his brow dangerously, but Pansy could see the smile in his eyes. "What?" she finally asked.

"You won't believe everything you hear," Draco finished.

"I'm a gossiper, not a gossipee," Pansy scolded, slipping a hand under the button-up her lover was wearing. "I promise I won't. Now, shut up, and hold me, for Salazar's sake."


	9. Weasels

She woke up cold, gooseflesh raised where his hand had been, on that tiny spot of soft land between her breasts and above her stomach.

He was gone. Part of Pansy remembered him leaving, even though she was probably asleep at the time. That part of her said that he had left hours ago. Why, then, could she feel the warmth of his face on the pillows?

She pushed herself up, sliding off of the bed slowly, walking to the window. Dawn's sun was weak, gray as the sky, but that would not stop the goblins from opening the bank. The sooner she had her money and could leave, the better. Gathering her bag and slipping on her shoes, she gave the room a final look. On the end of the bed was a hooded cloak, draped where her feet had been moments earlier. She snatched it up with a smirk, looping it around her neck.

"Thanks, Dragon," she said, walking out the door.

Diagon Alley was quiet, uncommonly so. Pansy could remember shopping with her parents only a year ago when this time of morning would have had the cobblestone covered in little old witches gathering their ingredients for a few sunrise brews. But that was no longer the case. Between the Dark Lord and those fools as the Ministry, most of the common folk were opting to stay within their homes, only coming out in broad daylight when the chances of running into trouble were minimal. As she had suspected, though, the goblins were as busy as ever, even with only a few patrons to serve.

The cart ride to her vault was short, thankfully. (It wasn't morning sickness that left her green as she stumbled out.) The goblin with her unlocked the entryway and stepped back.

"I want all of it bagged," she stated.

A Parkinson would not lift a finger to help, and, since she didn't think it best to draw attention to herself, she simply stepped back and let the little creature waddle along. The goblin handed her a hefty sack, and she opened her bag, lowering the coins inside. It fit perfectly. She gave herself a mental pat on the back before climbing back into the cart.

Her exit would have to be fast, especially with goblins wishing her a good day by her real name. Also, more customers and shop owners had arrived in the alley. Hiding her face under her hood, she stepped out onto the walk, slipping past a group of elderly wizards discussing Quidditch. She was almost halfway past the shops when she looked up and noticed a few familiar faces. They were in Slytherin, some of her younger housemates. While most of them would not recognize her, at least one of the young witches had been to one of her parent's parties and spoken to her in the past.

Panicking, Pansy slipped into the closest shop, stopping at the entrance to glance through the curtains at the group. She held the fabric down as they passed. Problem was, they didn't pass. They stopped directly across from the shop, chatting amongst themselves.

"Damn it," Pansy hissed.

"Can I help you, Miss?"

Pansy turned, finding herself face to face with a short, round woman. It took her a moment to recognize the witch as Madam Malkin. Pansy herself went to her mother's favorite shop, Jenkin's, for new robes, but Draco had mentioned this place before and had taken her to pick up his formals here.

"Miss?"

For once, Pansy Parkinson was speechless. She looked out the corner of her eye—the Slytherins were still right outside.

Madam Malkin gave her a worried frown. "I'll be back to you in a moment, when you've made up your mind, deary."

Before the shop-lady could walk away, though, a young, red-headed witch stepped out from the back room. "Madam, is there any way we could lower the hem a bit more. . . and possible the bust line."

Pansy rolled her eyes. It was Weaselette, of course. _Those muggle-loving freaks are here. Could my day get any worse?_

"Ginerva Weasley! Your bust is fine as is! It's a wedding, not a bachelorette party," bellowed a voice from the other room. A moment later Molly Weasley appeared at her daughter's side, hands at her hips.

Ginny looked as if she was about to make a rather rude comment about bachelorette parties when she spotted Pansy and, obviously, recognized her face beneath the hood. "Hello, Parkinson," the young Weasley greeted in a less than friendly tone.

"You and the other Weasels enjoying your summer?" Pansy snapped.

"Yes, indeed. Are you and your ferret enjoying the holiday?" Ginny retorted.

Pansy's spite fell, and the other young witch must have noticed the foolishness of her words because she pressed her lips together, looking away. _So, this is how it will be now—mention of Draco's taboo amongst the do-gooders, too. _

Molly Weasley stepped in front of her daughter. "Madam Malkin, I suppose Ginny's formal could use some tweaking."

Malkin nodded, leading Ginny away into the back fitting room. Molly remained behind, staring at the young witch before her. Pansy defensively crossed her arms, sneering at the woman in disapproval.

"What?"

Molly stepped up, seemingly glancing out the curtain that Pansy was studying with so much interest. "There are several people looking for you, Miss Parkinson. I wouldn't have recognized you myself, except your parents have been sending out photographs of you to all the Ministry workers. They're offering quite the reward for your safe return."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Looking to turn me in? You could probably use a few extra knuts."

"Merlin knows," Molly replied, ignoring the girl's sarcasm. "What their bulletin didn't mention was your situation. Do your parents even know that you're pregnant?"

Her mouth opened and closed as Pansy looked for the right words. She glanced over at the woman in confusion. "How did you know?"

"Oh, you've done a good enough job of hiding it." The older witch shrugged. "However, when one's had as many buns in the oven as I have. . . One becomes intuitive in such matters."

Pansy was quiet a moment. Finally she glanced over. "No one else knows. I'd prefer to keep it that way, unless you really are planning to turn me in to my parents."

"Oh, I'm not one for gossip." Molly smirked. "Not in this case, at least. But, tell me, who's the father?"

"None of your damned business," Pansy shot.

"That's what I thought."

Molly smiled sadly. "You'll have questions, eventually. And, if you're not planning on asking your mother for help, I might be available." She dug into her purse, pulling out a folded card. "If you need to talk, all you have to do is tap this with your wand. It will work for you and only you."

Pansy took the card, opening it. It was a wedding invitation for one Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour scheduled for the following Saturday. Across the center the words "Pansy Parkinson" suddenly appeared in lavender script.

"No, thank you. I have better things to do," Pansy said, attempting to hand the card back.

"You keep it, dear," Molly said, walking back toward the fitting rooms. "It's yours now. You may decide to use it yet."

_When Hell freezes over!_ Pansy bit her tongue and pocketed the invitation. _Like I would ever ask a weasel for help._


	10. Spots

After all the stories she'd heard about the Shrieking Shack, Pansy never thought that she would gather the courage to go in by herself. But that dilapidated house was the very place she had been sleeping for the past two nights. Even with the bit of money she'd withdrawn from the bank, she knew that it would all be gone if she stayed in inns again, and she didn't want to risk some greedy fool out for her parents' money finding her. Staying in a haunted estate for a few days had seemed like a reasonably good idea, but Pansy was slowly beginning to regret the idea, especially after what she'd found when she'd awoken.

It was in a second floor room on the collapsed bed on which she now sat, two letters spread out beside her, where she decided that something was wrong and that it was time to leave this place.

Pansy winced, gripping to the sheet as a sharp, sudden cramp stabbed into her abdomen. Her eyes instinctively went to the ragged sheet she had slept upon where a string of islands of bright, crimson drops had been left behind last night.

_That's not supposed to happen. I might not know much about pregnancy, but I know that blood isn't good. . . ._ And for a moment, she wondered if everything was over, if it was gone now. It. Her baby.

"No." Her eyes burning, she put a hand over her stomach, caressing the spot where she imagined her child's head to be. "I can still feel. . . . Not dead, there's not enough blood," she assured herself.

_But there will be. There will be more if I don't get help. _

Pansy stood, her body aching as if she had twisted and turned all night. She tasted a bit of bile bubbling up in her throat and sat back down quickly, before she lost her meal. She hadn't been able to keep down food over the past few days, and that alone had weakened her drastically. Simple movement left her dazed and disoriented.

After a moment to regain herself, Pansy reached out, snatching up the letter she'd found in her pocket. A part of her thought it was from the night Draco had came to see her, but that was impossible. She would have known. . . .But the only other option was that he had somehow slipped it to her when she'd left the Weasley woman at Madam Malkin's shop.

"He couldn't have gotten that close without me noticing," she reasoned. Nevertheless, he had left it behind, apparently, somehow.

"_I have told you that no one is to be trusted, and that holds true. However, people can still be used. If you need something, don't hesitate to take it—even if it's something that you'd normally refuse with all of your heart. _

_Don't go without for me, love. _

_D."_

Pansy found it odd that he had went to no means to conceal this message. In fact, it looked very much like it was quickly jotted down at the last minute. For such simple words, they felt so desperate coming from him.

"Not like him at all," she said, thinking of her lover. Very few things could undue him when his mind was set, and she wondered what could have made him risk getting this note to her. She brushed away the worry, knowing that it would do her no good, and looked back down at the object on the bed.

Beside her was the invitation to the Weasley wedding.

Pansy shook her head. "I'd rather go face my parents! Better them than those muggle lovers," she snapped, glaring down at the piece of paper.

_But could you? Could you turn back now? It would be so easy—it wouldn't hurt you a bit. In fact, it would help you, and your parents would be so happy to have you back. I bet they're worried, scared of what could have happened to their little girl. _

_They'd take your child away, give it to strangers far away, sure, and they'd never let you see Draco again, but luxury would be yours—a warm bed, a healer to coddle you to health, money. . . .Draco's worthless, a man wanted for attempted murder, accounts probably frozen, place in society dwindling away, a dead man for not completing his task for the Dark Lord. And a baby? You're a child yourself—what makes you think you can raise one? And by yourself—yes, alone, because your silly boyfriend will be dead by the time it's born. Stupid, naïve, Pansy. Poor little flower, go home. It's where you belong. _

She found herself hating that voice.

Her voice.

"No—my Draco," she answered, realizing that he was reason enough to never turn back. She had promised him, and he wouldn't leave her alone. . . . Never. "My little baby. . . ." She let out a shaky breath, crushing Draco's letter in her fist. No one was taking either of them away. "They're mine."

She picked up the invitation, letting out a hiss of breath as a cramp seized her, bringing tears to her eyes. Pansy bit her lip, frustrated. There was nothing worse than needing help from an enemy. But if she wanted to keep what was hers. . . .

"Damn it," Pansy growled, drawing her wand and putting the tip against the card.

**End Notes: I haven't forgotten about this story. Sorry about the wait, but I needed it. I'll be updating sooner on this. I hope you enjoyed this development. Review with suggestions or comments. Thanks so much for reading.**


	11. Arrival

Crisp morning air slapped the witch in the face, calming, hay scented country air filling her nostrils. But she barely took notice, feeling chill bumps rise on her arms and a wave of disorientation rake over her body. Traveling by portkey had increased her usual feeling of morning sickness by ten fold.

She collapsed onto her knees, palms on dew slick blades of grass. A garden gnome scattered out of the area beneath her before she heaved onto the lawn. Her stomach was empty, and she was left with the sour, astringent taste of bile in her mouth. A few more minutes of dry hacking passed before she wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her robe, sitting back onto her feet.

"Well, that was a thoroughly disgusting display of disrespect."

"I give it a nine."

"No, seven at best."

_Shit._

Pansy's eyes moved up to find two matching red-headed figures hovering on brooms a good ten feet above her head. Everyone who had been at Hogwarts in the past decade knew the Weasleys' horde, and _everyone_ knew the almost infamous Fred and George, the prankster twins of the family.

The witch's face twisted into a sneer as the young men shared lazy, conniving grins with one another before looking back down at the girl. While she knew that she'd have to see the Weasleys by taking advantage of the invitation, she had expected to be able to simply find the mother of the awful bunch and ask her for help. In and out before anyone took notice: a decent plan. She'd thought that no one would be up at this early hour—apparently she'd been wrong.

"Why, brother, if I'm not mistaken, that's one of the Slytherin girls from dear Ronald's year!"

"By George, I think you're right!" the other answered, with a mocking mask of haughty delight.

"Pansy-the-Almighty Parkinson, I do believe."

"What brings you to our humble abode?"

"Because you're quite welcome to. . . ."

"Remove your arse. . . ."

"From our land."

There was something to be admired about the Weasley twins. Even Pansy would admit that, if she was forced to (and not looking at the ends of their wands). The witch pulled herself up off the damp ground, refusing to notice how horrid and rumpled she must have looked. Thankfully, she had her own wand already drawn and her invitation out.

Sneer still present, she raised the card Molly Weasley had handed her. "I was invited, you stupid weasels, by your mother," Pansy drawled.

One of the boys landed gracefully, taking two brisk steps and snatching the invitation out of her hands. Giving it a quick glance, he handed to his brother.

"I knew it would happen one day," the second said. "Mum's lost her mind."

"That or she really wants to ruin ol' Flem's special day."

"Now that would be the mum I know and love—how'd you get this, Parkinson?"

Pansy had a very good retort in stow, but it never came out. She winced as a cramp made her bend forward, clasping her stomach with her free hand. The witch released a shallow breath, the color draining from her face.

"I need to speak to your mother, damn it," she all but growled.

The twins hadn't moved, though, simply staring at her.

"Parkinson, have you been eating too many sausages?"

"Or is that a bun we detect in your oven?"

"Speak of my 'oven' again and I will personally hex the two of you into oblivion," Pansy spat, her eyes blazing. "Now be of some use and fetch your mother."

But there was no need for that. When she looked past the two wizards, she saw Molly Weasley stepping out of her front door, eyes on her sons.

"Fred! George!" Molly snapped, a sever hand gesturing for them to move out of the way as she walked down into the yard. "Miss Parkinson, so glad you could make it," the woman huffed, pretending as if the girl's presence was not at all out of place. "Come in, come in—I've got a bit of breakfast on."

Pansy decided to hold her tongue and follow the woman inside, but she did glare daggers at the twins, who stood somewhat dumbfounded.

Molly motioned for Pansy to step up into the house, pausing to face her boys with her lips pulled into a stern frown. "Fred, George, you are not to mention Miss Parkinson's arrival yet, even to your siblings. Do you understand me?"

The twins nodded numbly.

"Very good, boys." Molly followed Pansy into the house. "No one's in the kitchen yet," she said softly. Nevertheless, the look she gave the young witch was not one of pity or of greeting. "We'll talk in there."

_Salazar, what am I doing here? This woman will turn me in. . . .I just know it—she'll tell my parents when she finds out about the blood. _But Pansy didn't turn back, instead resting her slightly swollen feet at the Weasley woman's table.

"I don't care who you think you are, young woman, but I'm going to give you the same respect I give everyone else, Miss Parkinson," Molly began, her voice curt and to the point. "Now. If you want any help from me, you're going to have to tell me the truth about things. Not everything, just what I need to know. If you don't agree to this, you might as well leave my home right now."

Pansy blinked, taken aback by the woman's tone. It was not at all what she expected. _But had I been looking for coddling—well, I suppose I was. _Her mouth opened, but her mind was still searching for an answer. After all, how could she know exactly what the woman was going to ask her? _She'll want me to talk about Draco._

"Ask," Pansy said, somewhat solemn.

**End Notes: I had trouble writing this chapter, hence the length. Sorry about that. . . . But I did make a Fred and George cameo, so perhaps that will make up for it somewhat. I should be updating in about a week. Watch for me. Oh, and review. Love ya! **


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